


Beneath

by Shakespeares_Girl



Category: BtVS - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Other, altered timeline, h/c, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-04
Updated: 2010-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shakespeares_Girl/pseuds/Shakespeares_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam can't control the rage anymore. Dean tries to stay out of the way, but he can't just stand by while Sam kills someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Sam is pretty dark, bordering on downright evil, just so you know. Timeline is S4 for SPN, S6 for BTVS. Willow is a more minor character, but still important. The SPN timeline is also slightly screwy (Dean and Bobby found out about the demon blood during "The Monster At the End of This Book," and think they've saved Sam). For BTVS, this is probably the night of, or the night after, the car accident in which Willow almost kills Dawn. By the end, SPN timeline resolves itself, and Buffy timeline never gets messed up, if we assume that Willow decides not to tell anyone what happens. That said, this was fairly disturbing to my beta (who for the moment reserves her right to anonymity), so if the abuse and non-con squick at all, consider yourselves warned.
> 
> So, that being said, I don't own any of this, it all belongs to Joss and Kripke, respectively, yadda yadda yadda.
> 
> Enjoy!

It's  been bubbling, hot and ugly beneath Sam's skin for weeks now.   Rage and  uncontrollable lust, all directed at his big brother.   Everything Dean does is  either annoying as hell or a total turn  on.  And it has to end.  It's fermented  and sour, and Sam hates  it, hates the taste that Dean leaves in his mouth, hates  the wide  eyes and the smell of cigarettes and alcohol and the way he flirts  with  everything that moves.

Usually if he felt this way,  if he had to get away from Dean, he'd go to a  bar, and he'd pick  up a hooker, pay her extra to let him rough her up, toss her  around.   But they're in a tiny little California town called Sunnydale, and  there's only one club that even exists, a teeny-bopper hang out  called "The  Bronze."

He's been trolling around for a while,  checking out the possibilities, but  there's no one, and the frustration  of spending an entire night with chaperones  and high-school students  is beginning to make even pretending to have self  control tiresome.   For a moment he thinks he sees a vampire off in one corner,  but  he blinks and the fang is gone, leaving only a pretty, teary-eyed  red head  behind.

Sam stares at the girl, slim and pretty  and miserable.  He's been scaring off  everyone else with his  scowl and his clenched jaw, and as he looks at her, he  realizes  that this is it.  It's either bang the red head or go start a fight  out  back, and he's more than certain he can take anyone in this  place.  He stalks  over, determined now that he's made up his  mind.  The closer he gets, the more  self-loathing she projects,  and the more her body seems to cry out for someone  to hurt her.

"Hey,"  Sam says, voice tight.  "Sam Winchester."

"W-Willow Rosenberg,"  she stammers reflexively, staring up at him with bambi  eyes.

Sam's  grin is feral as he sizes her up and makes his decision.  "I think  we  can help each other out," he says bluntly.  "If you know what  I mean."

***

Willow sat miserably in one corner  of the Bronze, shivering with guilt and  hunger and self-hate.   If she'd had the option of sinking through the floor and  dying,  she'd have taken it.  Buffy was so angry she'd been kicked out  of the  house.  Tara was gone.  Dawn wouldn't speak to her.   Even Xander had looked at  her with his big eyes and shook his  head, disappointment obvious as he turned  away.  She was alone  with her misery and her absolute knowledge that she  deserved far  worse than this.  She deserved to be really punished.

Spike  had just come by to congratulate her on being a complete idiot and  nearly killing Dawn--sarcasm and support she could have done without--and  she  was alone again, waiting for something, someone, to tell her  what to do.

"Hey.  Sam Winchester."

Willow jerked  and looked up, eyes wide.  The man who spoke was tall, taller  than  Angel for sure, and he had broad shoulders and floppy hair that  reminded  her of Xander.  She swallowed her instinctual fear and  answered, "W-Willow  Rosenberg."

For a moment she thought  he was a vampire, his smile toothy and dangerous,  but his eyes  didn't flash yellow, and he seemed to be radiating heat.  "I think  we can help each other out," he said bluntly.  "If you know what  I mean."

His meaning was obviously sexual.  She stared  up at him, unsure.  He was big,  strong, sure of himself.  He  could hurt her.  He could force her.  She tamped  down on her  fear, on the sense that something was simmering, murky and  dangerous,  just below his skin.  "Yes," she nodded.  "I do."

They  walked back to his motel.  It was the same one Faith had lived  in, once  upon a time, and Willow ducked her head to keep the boy  sitting at the front  desk from recognizing her as she walked by.   He was ahead of her, bending down  to fiddle with the lock on his  door, and for a second she thought he didn't have  a key, but then  the door opened and he ushered her inside.  There was movement  in the room next door, but she ignored it, and walked in.

The  door shut, and there was silence for a moment, until Sam gave a  roar and  slammed her into the wall.  She whimpered, wincing,  as he smashed his mouth over  hers.  It was wrong, all wrong.   He was too big, too angry, too male.  He pulled  back, tossed  her onto the bed and growled, long and low.

"Wait," she  tried, "I think I made a mistake.  I--"

"What?" he snapped,  out of breath and dark-eyed.

"I'm a lesbian?"  It came  out sounding like a question.  Sam just laughed.   "No, I am.   I can't--this isn't what I--I'm in love with--"

He ignored  her, tossing lube and condoms on the bed.  "Shut up."

"No!   Get away from me!"

"You stupid little cunt!" Sam  shouted, the simmering rage she'd  sensed beneath his skin bubbling  over at last.  "You fucking cunt!  You stupid  little whore!   I can't believe you lied to me!  You got me all turned on and now  you want to just leave me?  Is it money?  Do you want me to  pay?  Is that  it?"

"No!  No, I just want to go home!   Please!"

"Please!  Please!" he mocked her, grabbing her  arm and twisting her up off  the bed.  He threw her to the floor  and slapped her, hard enough to bruise.  "Is  this what you want,  little whore?"  He grabbed her shirt, and she felt more than  heard  the fabric rip as he heaved her across the room.  She smacked her  head on  the dresser, and stayed down, hunched and uncertain, trying  to protect herself,  trying to believe Buffy would come and find  her, like always.  But Sam  Winchester isn't a vampire, or  a demon.  Buffy won't know he's a threat.  Buffy  isn't coming.

With  a sob, Willow looked up.  Sam had murder in his eyes.

***

Dean  knew what Sam had left to do.  At first, he'd thought it was a  good  idea, work out some rage, blow off some steam.  But he'd  watched as Sam came  back with that tiny red head, all big eyes  and creamy skin, and his heart sank.   She'd seen him before Sam  had ushered her into the room next door, had ignored  his presence  and walked toward her doom calmly.

This was wrong.  She  didn't know what she was doing, didn't know what Sam was  capable  of.  He swallowed back the bile that threatened to choke him and  tried  to ignore the banging and the muffled shouts coming from  the connecting  wall.

"--fucking cunt!  You stupid  little whore! . . . can't believe you . . .  me!"

Dean  jerked a few seconds later when there was a resounding clap, and  he knew  Sam had slapped the girl.  Dean pressed a palm to the  shared wall, willing  himself to forget the innocence in her eyes.

A  few more thumps and thuds filtered through the wall, and Dean squeezed  his  eyes shut against the horror of it all.  Something cracked  next door, and then  there was a long silence, then a quiet, broken  sob.  Dean slumped forward.  He  couldn't ignore this, no matter  what would happen to him if he interrupted.   This rage was for  him, and he wasn't going to let some innocent girl die for  him.

It  was the demon blood, Dean guessed, all that super-charged O positive  they'd  caught Ruby feeding him.  She'd convinced him he was the  world's savior.  Dean  was just glad they'd found out before something  worse had happened.  Or  maybe it already has . . .

Dean  shuddered as he walked out of the motel room and opened the door  to  Sam's room.

The girl saw him first, relief and shock  flooding her face at his  appearance.  Her shirt was half torn  off, her face bruised.  Tears smeared her  mascara down her face.

"Run,"  he advised, stepping between the girl and Sammy.

"Thank  you," she breathed as she fled past him and out the door.

Before  she was even gone, Dean was slammed up against the wall, gasping  for  breath as Sam clawed at his face with one hand.  "What were  you thinking?  What  are you doing?  God damn it!  You're nothing  but a--"

Dean didn't hear Sam's next words, just let himself  be shaken and thrown  around, concentrating on minimal damage.   Sam tossed him onto the bed and Dean  lay still, waiting.

He  didn't expect what happened next.  He expected a beating, rape,  something  horrifying and twisting and wrong.  But he wasn't expecting  this.  He wasn't  expecting Sam to pull out a knife.

"Stay  still, bitch," Sam hissed, his eyes demon-dark.  He flicked the  knife  along Dean's throat, and Dean felt a white hot line of fire  race along his  neck.  Sam's mouth fastened over the wound, and  his left hand clenched around  Dean's throat, keeping him still,  and choking off his air.  Dean just lay there,  taking it.  This  was Sam.  Even Sam on demon blood wouldn't . . .

***

"Dean  Winchester."

Dean blinked.  "Cas?"

"Yes."

"Where  are we?"

Castiel glanced around them.  "I believe we are  in your head.  Your  mind."

"Oh.  Why?  Am I dreaming?"

"No.   You've blacked out."

Dean thought about this, taking in  the cheap motel room that was so generic  it could belong to any  motel on the planet.  "Oh."  Dean looked back at  Castiel.   "Am I drunk?"

"No.  You are being choked to death.  By  Sam.  While he drinks your  blood."

"So that was all real?"

"Yes."

"Oh."   They stare at each other for a moment.  "I'm dying, then."

"Yes."

"Huh."

"Ask  for my help and I shall give it," Castiel says, sounding almost  desperate.

"You won't kill Sam?"

"You have my  word.  Both of you shall live."

"Then please.  Help me."

***

There  is only black for a startling moment, then colors burst before Dean's  eyes.  He can hear Sam shouting, can feel a weight moving off  his body.  Sam's  still shouting.

"--damn stupid angel  tells me what to do!"

"Sam Winchester, in the name  of the Lord, I command you to cease."

Dean smiles at Cas'  voice, feeling suddenly safe, then lets the darkness  overtake  him once more.

***

Castiel keeps watch while Dean  sleeps.  He's healed Dean the best that he can  manage, but for  some reason the knife wound bears a stubborn scar that refuses  to  heal.  The rest of the physical damage has been reversed, though.

Sam  has gone.  It was unavoidable.  Castiel stopped him from taking  the  Impala, though.

Dean blinks his eyes open.  "Cas?"  he croaks.

"I am here, Dean."

"Okay."  Dean waits  a moment, then asks, "Sam?"

"Gone," Castiel tells him.   "To Ruby."

"Bitch," Dean observes.

"Yes," Castiel  agrees.

"She's going to trick him into breaking seals, isn't  she?" Dean asks.

"Probably.  Eventually.  It was predestined  that this should come to  pass."

"Sam ditching his blood  for a demon bitch was predestined?" Dean snaps,  bitter and angry.

"Yes,"  Castiel says simply.  "I am sorry."

Dean is quiet for a  moment.  "He was going to kill me."

"Yes."

"On  purpose?"

Castiel hesitates.  "He did not know he was choking  you.  But he would not  have stopped, even had he known."

Dean  thinks about it, but there are no words to respond to finding out  your  brother cares more about getting his next high than about  whether or not you  live.  "How do we save him?" Dean asks finally.

Castiel  just shakes his head.  "That has not yet been foreseen."

***

Sam  pushes the stolen car past ninety as he speeds toward Ruby.  She'll  help  him.  She'll make it better.  Together, they will save  the world.


End file.
